


If The Stars Could Speak

by sadclapz



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Angst and Romance, Childhood Friends, Complicated Relationships, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, basically just tobin and kliff kissing and being dumb, guest appearance by lukas the cockblock of fe echoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:02:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26110828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadclapz/pseuds/sadclapz
Summary: The boy he loved so dearly; loathed so terribly.They all hurt him the same.
Relationships: Kliff & Robin | Tobin, Kliff/Robin | Tobin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	If The Stars Could Speak

**Author's Note:**

> fire emblem echoes fandom are y'all still alive?? i'm iffy about posting this cuz it's not my fav that i've written but hope you enjoy regardless!! i love these idiots so much ugh

War does not rest, even on Kliff’s eighteenth birthday. His presents are Gray’s share of dinner’s stew and words of advice from Lukas. _Growing older means learning how the world can hurt you._ It’s more than just scrapes and bruises from falling to the dirt as a child. He’d weep until the wound healed. Now, men oblivious to his own name were pointing their swords to his head- their fates met with ebony flames without the young mage flinching.

Kliff silently disagrees. The world has done nothing to him. It’s the people, Mila’s own blessed children, damned from paradise to the soil, cursed for inevitable plague and death, bound to endure hunger and life-long wars. Strangers on armored horses fighting in the name of their king, blind as his own cause intoxicated by power. His father, who left children and coin for another woman. His mother, whose eyes only beamed when his grades were well-above average for his age. The other school children, readied with venom on every tongue as he passed by.

The boy he loved so dearly, loathed so terribly.

They all hurt him the same. With their pointed teeth and bloodied-hands and _the softest lips in Zofia._

The two shiver against each other in the late night chill behind the weapons’ tent. Limbs tangle for warmth as their mouths search desperately for rhythm. A _melodic_ rhythm at least- Kliff is slow, indulging the open mouth before him, forming letters of incantations with his tongue. Tobin is hit with his unspoken sagittae, arrows of an amorous fever that’s been festering inside the boy since their childhood. Kliff’s movements are agonizing, sending the other into a delirium unknown to him. Tobin whimpers into the kiss, shuffling his body closer into his touch. Hands reach underneath his shirt, fondling magic through tepid fingertips, working spells into his skin. The poor boy cannot keep up, his mouth too impatient and manic for more.

Kliff cradled agitation in his palms, the other demeaned to a mess of asperous breathing and moans. He rolls his eyes; his childhood friend shares the same inexperience, yet more a mess than he’s ever been. Kliff migrates, fluttering kisses down his neck, biting under his jaw, rolling the fresh, florid marks between his teeth and tongue. Tobin moans his friend’s name in a tone most ribald, hitches in his breathing. That singular syllable is different from calling him at a distance on the battlefield. It’s near aphrodisiac, sending poison towards his abdomen, causing him to sigh against Tobin’s collarbone. They drape across the grass, perspiring and caressing under constellations, soaked in indigo hue.

If the stars could speak, they’d tell Kliff to sleep; kiss him as he did now only in his dreams. For the archer’s eyes glitter for another. After this night, the vicious cycle continues, and Tobin will reach out for Gray with the forgotten taste of Kliff lingering on his lips.

He understands well that this will hurt, adding to the pain that Lukas advises he will learn with age. That memory slips away when Tobin’s palm slide below Kliff’s navel, fingers threatening to persist under his pants’ waistband.

He gasps, looking up to the boy through his own frosted bangs. Tobin’s eyes are a deep brown, millions of shades darker than his orbs of beige. He smirks (maybe, for his true expression is hard to read with his furrowed brows and nervous dyspnea), as if challenging him to a spar of whose irises are the richest in hue. Everything was a competition for Tobin; anyone who dares to surpass him will face impending doom- usually consisting of incessant bickering or empty threats. He figures that’s why his touch lingers, unaccepting to the idea that the mage has any sort of power over him. Even when his hand quivers and grin fades. Kliff separates to unbutton the top buttons of his shirt, keeping gaze while Tobin blushes.

“Happy birthday,” Tobin breathes, swallowing whatever common sense he had left.

Kliff ceases undressing, perking an eyebrow up at such a poorly timed comment. “Excuse me?”

“I-I just felt I never properly greeted you today, since you know, we were just thrusted into battle this morning- and we never had a proper moment alone together, so-”

He stutters, panic plaguing him with his libido’s ghost haunting. Kliff groans, signature eye roll repeated, heat in his abdomen cooling with the twilight air.

Tobin exhales, collecting his composure before speaking, in hopes the correct words find him. “Sorry. I just… wanted to say you’re beautiful, but I thought that would be stupid.”

“So, you thought wishing me a _happy birthday_ would make you less of a fool?” Kliff scoffs, hoping to hide the blush of his shock.

“I-I don’t know!”

Tobin knows his place, even when he does not acknowledge it. It’s difficult to surpass Kliff in comparison; he’s patient, gifted with magical ability, has more wit than all of the Deliverance combined. At least Tobin’s taller. There’s a force of the Goddess inside him that tells him it’s not enough. It’s not a relationship like with Gray, where there must be _something_ he can best him at. Combat, flirtations with the contrary sex (which he truly has no desire for, the boy below him proven to be of greater interest). With Kliff, he accepts defeat at peace. Yet behind the dining tent is where he craves advantage. He ponders to himself, eyes matching with his, how he’s never noticed the softness of his visage until now.

If Kliff could hear his thoughts, he would surely tremble and fall dead. If Tobin could only glance into his heart’s stained glass, he would surely see a victory.

After a lingered pause, Kliff laughs, resting a palm on Tobin’s cheek. He mutters while shivering at the chilling wind, watching the other’s mouth part in hiatus. “I’m in love with an idiot.”

“Wha-” he fails to finish his response when Kliff kisses him again.

Tobin’s cluttered thoughts shatter, as if Mila has blessed them with their own corner of time and space, alone to savor in each other’s arms (they have no knowledge on what is forbidden- they’ve never been followers to religion anyway). Kliff’s subconscious voice begging to stop, run away _before you get hurt_ silences. For that small fragment of time, they exist as one. Lips in feverish connection, cheeks rosy, hands unsure where to caress next. They certainly weren’t the same kids in Ram village anymore. Tobin unearths a confidence of unknown origin, fondling the front buttons of Kliff’s pants.

If they truly were blessed, then Mila must have granted them the smallest fragment indeed, as a far voice calls out both of their names. The mage shoves Tobin off his body, clothes tousled and hanging off his shoulder. He buttons his shirt with haste, fear glinting in his eyes as he looks to the other. Tobin, with clothes still in tact other than a single shirt tail untucked, stands to reveal himself. His stance is unbalanced, nearly tripping on the prickly grass, mind still swimming in achromatic delirium.

Lukas walks towards the tent, lowering the volume of his voice, in his night clothes. “Are you two okay?”

Tobin attempts to deceive with recovering breath, hoping for the knight’s ignorance, as Kliff dresses himself proper and listens to their conversation. “Y-yes, just fine! We heard noises coming from behind the dining tent and had to investigate.”

“Oh, I see,” he responds, seemingly unbothered. “Anything of concern?”

“Oh, nothing at all, just some wild animals is all. Nope, nothing to be suspicious of. Nothing out of the ordinary!” Tobin pleads, forgetting the bruise on his neck, quickly using his hand to conceal.

_It’s too dark to even the see it, you dolt._

Lukas raises his brows, trying to ignore the strangeness of the situation. “Right… I just came to relieve you two of watch duty. I’m having difficulty falling asleep, so I thought to make some use of my insomnia. Where is Kliff?”

The mage finally arises, daring not to look to the boy next to him, praying his _stupidity_ did not rub off. “I was just tying my boot strings.”

“Well, you two may retire, I’ll keep watch for the time being.”

They thank Lukas, stumbling back to their private tents in silence. The tension hidden below Kliff’s belt did not age well in those speechless minutes as he collected senses. This was _Tobin,_ for Mila’s sake, the boy who is too oblivious to those around him. He will go back to his tent to dote on Gray in clandestine isolation. Dare to say even rewrite the memory with his body underneath replacing Kliff. His thoughts run manic, longing for slumber to take him away from such heavy thoughts, for just a few hours.

He steels himself as they turn to each other. Kliff bids him goodnight, polite more than he will ever be to this pillar of teenage chaos. Just before turning away, Tobin grabs his wrist and pulls his face towards him. They kiss a final time- lips so plush, so welcoming, they are sure to be in his dreams tonight. Tobin is delectably charming when he stops talking. Kliff blinks, unsure of whose cot he should sleep in tonight.

“You’re beautiful,” Tobin whispers, looking back at his lips, pondering the same. “I mean, happy birthday.”

If the stars could speak, they’d tell him to shed tears, even without reason. For growing older means learning how the world and all it’s blessed, damned, cursed children can hurt you- but not why.


End file.
